


I Do Not Sleep

by semperama



Series: Tumblr Ficlets - Pinto [13]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-12-01 08:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11482200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: Chris is gone, and then he's not.





	I Do Not Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the rare word prompt "vacivity: emptiness."

Two weeks ago, Zach came home and found Chris in his kitchen, one arm hooked over the open door of the fridge, looking into it with a thoughtful frown on his face.

“What—” Zach said, his voice strangled with shock. “What are you doing here?”

Chris looked up at him and smiled. He hadn’t changed since the last time Zach saw him. He was wearing one of his ratty t-shirts, the neckline all stretched out. Those same black jeans that he had lived in. An assortment of bracelets on his wrist. His jaw was peppered with stubble and his hair was a little longer, but otherwise it could have been the morning he walked out and never came back.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked. “Looking for food. Do you know the fridge is basically empty? We need to go shopping.”

Zach had put down his keys and turned away, his head swimming, his eyes swimming. He walked to the bedroom and found the pieces of Chris’s suit strewn across the floor, the light brown one from Berlin. Chris must have stripped it off on the way to the closet. It was just like him to never pick up after himself.

“Everything alright?” Chris asked from the doorway. He was still smiling when Zach turned around, blue tie in hand. “Oh, sorry I didn’t put all that away. I was going to. I’m just starved. Hey, do you want to go out for dinner? I could really go for some pasta.”

That was two weeks ago. They had gone out just like Chris wanted, and Zach spent the whole night drinking in the sight of him, barely able to string two words together. He’s been drinking him in ever since too, wanting to ask why he came back, not wanting to know the answer. But this morning he woke up in a panic, expecting Chris to be gone again, and the sobs had come on as unstoppable as the tide when he saw he was still there, sleeping with one arm flung over his head and his eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. Zach’s tears had made Chris stir, a smile crawling across his lips before the sleep-fog cleared and he realized Zach’s distress. Then he’d reached for him and held him close, not asking what was wrong, not asking anything at all, just combing his fingers through his hair and murmuring over and over, “I love you, I love you, Zach.”

Zach needs to know if he’s going crazy. He needs now to see for himself. He waited until Chris was asleep to sneak out of bed, not wanting to alarm him, not sure what would happen if they talked about it. The moon is high, giving off more than enough light to see, and though the air is cool, Zach has sweated clean through his shirt. Perspiration rolls down his face. He has to swipe the back of his arm across his forehead every few minutes.

His back aches by the time he is done, by the time he shoves the shovel into the corner of the coffin to pry it open. Inside, there is only clean velvet lining and empty space. It’s as if Chris was never there. Zach clambers out of the hole and picks up his flashlight to double-check the headstone. _Christopher Whitelaw Pine_ , it says. _August 26, 1980 - March 16, 2020_. Zach reaches out and touches it and it feels real. He runs his fingers over the letters, and they don’t melt away. _Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep._

Zach doesn’t bother filling the grave back in. People will find out eventually. They’ll find out, or they’ll come and take Zach away, feed him pills until all of this makes more sense.

He turns the light on and stands in the doorway, watching Chris sleep, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. After a few moments, his eyes fly open and he sits up, as if waking from a nightmare. His eyes find Zach, take in his appearance, and his mouth turns down at the corners.

“Where have you been?” he asks sleepily.

“Nowhere,” Zach says. “Nightmare?”

Chris nods slowly, his eyes wide and worried, like a child’s. “It was dark,” he says. “It was really dark, and you weren’t there.”

Zach pulls his shirt off over his head and sheds his pants too. He really should take a shower, scrub away the smell of grave dirt. But he needs to touch Chris now, right now. He climbs into bed on his knees and Chris flops over so he’s lying in Zach’s lap, wraps his arms around Zach’s waist. Chris is real. He must be. He’s squeezing the life out of Zach, and he’s real.

_Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die._


End file.
